


Longest Days

by RudyRed34



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Diamond City, Gen, Goodneighbor, Pre-Canon, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 20:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13279251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RudyRed34/pseuds/RudyRed34
Summary: Summer days are long, and to Nick Valentine they feel even longer when he's stuck on a tough missing person's case. Set the summer before the events of Fallout 4, Nick is tracking down a missing Diamond City resident when he crosses paths for the first time with MacCready. The two find out that their goals are aligned - but can Nick trust this hired gun?





	Longest Days

Not for the first time, Nick Valentine wondered what it was like to dream. Sitting at his desk with just one small lamp for illumination, he could hear Ellie Perkins talking in her sleep in the living area of the detective agency. “Wan’ some bread,” she slurred, then barked a laugh. It would have been eerie, had Nick not heard similar 3 AM pronouncements in the past. Ellie was, apparently, a chatty dreamer.

Nick stubbed out his cigarette in an almost-full ashtray and flipped through the slim file for his latest case. Another missing person case, this time a young man by the name of Patrick Brady. Brady’s wife, Miranda, was convinced he’d been snatched by the Institute; that was the go-to excuse for every missing person these days, no doubt because it was easier to blame a mysterious bogeyman than to acknowledge that someone had run off with a new flame, or had gotten caught up in a criminal element and paid for it. Nick wasn’t sure yet whether Brady was the former or the latter; might be both. Or, hell, maybe he really did get snatched by the Institute. Right now, all Nick had was a list of names provided by a distraught Miranda - friends, coworkers, former partners, anyone who might have more information on Brady’s recent whereabouts.

“Fire in the… I think so,” Ellie mumbled. The bedsprings groaned as she rolled over. Nick lit another cigarette and picked up a pen. He began annotating the list of Brady’s associates, putting a star next to some names, a question mark next to others. It would be several hours before anyone worth talking to was awake; all Nick could do right now was make plans for when day broke. 

Brady had worked the brahmin holding pen for Clarence Codman, so the businessman was a logical stop. He’d also been friendly to Travis Miles - though Nick doubted he’d get anything useful from that nervous fellow. Reading further down the list, Nick paused at the notation  _ Karthik (sp?). _ Miranda had had no idea if that was a first name or a last name, nor how it was spelled. But she’d heard Brady mention the name, and Brady had been evasive when questioned. The name seemed vaguely familiar to Nick as well - maybe a suspect from a previous case? Leaning back in his chair, Nick absently ran a finger down the gash on the side of his face as he searched his memory banks, but he couldn’t find anything of use.

It was a quarter past four in the morning, according to Nick’s internal chronometer - still several hours before he could begin his questioning. As he had several times before, Nick wondered why the hell his creators had given him the ability to keep perfect track of time, yet only an average human memory. He circled the name Karthik twice, tapped the pen against the desk, and frowned. In the other room, Ellie sighed and mumbled, too quietly to make anything out. Nick thought back to a conversation he’d had with Doctor Amari some time ago. She’d told him humans needed dreams to properly synthesize all the new information they’d gathered during the day; dreams were the brain’s way of forming new connections, trying out hypotheses, and also shedding unimportant data. Deprived of R.E.M. sleep, one would go mad - and, eventually, die. “Obviously that doesn’t apply to you, though,” she’d hastened to add. “Because your brain isn’t made of organic material and thus isn’t subject to all of the same limitations.”

Sometimes Nick wondered if he’d be a better detective if he were able to dream - to let information simmer in his subconscious overnight. Oh, sure, he did well enough, but he wondered how much of that was simply because he was the only person in Diamond City who wasn’t distracted by basic needs like food and water. It’s hard to focus on finding a missing person when you don’t know when your next meal’s coming from, after all. Though now he did have Ellie’s well-being to worry about; the biggest difference now that she worked for him was that he actually accepted payment for his services.

His cigarette having long since ashed, Nick added it to the ever-growing pile of butts and rose from his desk. He tiptoed over to the living area to check on Ellie; she was sprawled across the entirety of the mattress, her thin blanket thrown to the ground, unneeded in the mild June night. Nick folded the blanket and draped it over the foot of the bedframe, then crept towards the door, donning his signature trench coat and hat along the way - since he was immune to summer heat, he could afford such vanities without making concessions to the weather. He turned off his desk lamp and slipped outside. The sun would be rising soon, and he’d long ago made a habit of greeting it each morning.

Ascending to the the Upper Stands on the west side of town, Nick went to his usual spot and leaned against the railing to wait for the sun. The sky had already acquired the thin gray color of predawn, and a gentle breeze tugged at the brim of his hat. He heard a soft chirp at his feet and looked down to see a brown tabby cat rubbing against his ankle. “Sorry, puss, I don’t have any food for you,” he said, bending down to scoop the cat into his arms. The tabby sat obligingly in his grasp as he scratched its chin.

Across Diamond City, the sky smoldered more and more orange as the sun crept towards the top of the Wall. When it finally crested, pushing aside the long shadows, the tabby squirmed and jumped from Nick’s hands; holding its tail high in a leisurely curve, it trotted off to find breakfast. After bidding the rising sun a quiet hello, Nick made his way back down to the back fields. The workers at the brahmin paddock would be up soon, if they weren’t already; he’d question them about their missing coworker first, then head back up to the Upper Stands to find their boss Codman.

The brahmin lowed as Nick approached, causing their handler - a towheaded woman with a splash of freckles on her nose - to look up. She finished emptying a sack of feed into the brahmin’s trough and smiled at Nick’s approach. “Morning, Nicky,” she said.

“Morning - Ennis, right?” Nick replied, extending his hand in greeting. 

The woman nodded and took Nick’s metal hand in a strong grip. “I’m guessing you’re here because of Pat Brady?”

“You guessed right. How’d you know?”

“He hasn’t showed up for work in two days, and you’re the premier detective in Diamond City.”

“Then I suppose we can cut to the chase - do you have any idea where he might be?”

As Ennis thought, she reached for the shovel leaning against the paddock. “You mean besides with the Institute?”

Nick grimaced. “I’d like to rule out all other possibilities before writing him off to the Institute,” he said, kicking at a clump of dried brahmin dung.

Ennis vaulted over the fence into the paddock, startling the brahmin away from their food trough. She began shoveling pies of dung into a wheelbarrow that sat just inside the gate. “Well, Pat did mention that he'd met someone from Goodneighbor a little while ago. Maybe he went to pay them a visit.”

“Someone named Karthik?”

“Yeah… I think so? Maybe.”

Nick rubbed his chin. “Did he mention how he met this person from Goodneighbor? Or anything else about them?”

Shaking her head, Ennis scooped up another shovelful of dung and tossed it into the wheelbarrow. “Just that they had a gig lined up for him, I think. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“No, no, you’ve been plenty helpful. Thank you.” Nick touched the brim of his fedora in good-bye and turned to go, pulling a pencil and notepad from his breast pocket as he did so. Now he was  _ sure _ he’d encountered the name Karthik before - the mention of Goodneighbor had jogged his memory. He flipped through old notes from previous cases as he threaded between tato plants, but found nothing of use. With a grunt of disappointment, he stuffed the notebook and pencil back into his pocket and returned to the agency.

The door banged against the wall as Nick strode into the office, making Ellie jump. She was awake by now, and had just poured herself a mug of dandelion root coffee, though she was still in just her sleep attire of a camisole and shorts. “Morning, Nick,” she said, futilely attempting to wipe a splash of coffee from her top. 

“Sorry, Ellie,” Nick said as he crossed the room to his filing cabinets. He began opening drawers and pulling out various files, piling them up on his desk.

“Something I can help you with?” Ellie asked, cradling her mug in both hands as she peered at the growing stack of manila folders.

Glancing over his shoulder, Nick said, “Yeah - can you go through all the files on Goodneighbor contacts and see if you can find any mention of someone named Karthik? I think that’s our best lead on the Brady case.”

Ellie nodded as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You got it.” She watched Nick dig through the filing cabinets for a few more seconds as she sipped on her coffee. “You gonna let me do my job, then?” she finally said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nick finally tore himself away from the files and adjusted the lapels on his coat as he considered his next move. “All right. I’m going to talk to Codman. I’ll be back soon.” Couldn’t hurt to see if there were any other leads.

By this time, Diamond City had fully awoken. Scavengers, merchants, and customers were already starting to fill up the marketplace, their conversations a steady background hum occasionally punctuated by a laugh or a shout. Nick threaded his way through the crowd as he made for the south side Upper Stands. Suddenly, he was stopped short by a young woman in a newsboy cap who stepped into his path with an expectant look on her face. “Hey, Nick!” she chirped.

“Christ, Piper,” Nick grumbled, “can this wait?” He tried to step around her, but she maneuvered in front of him again.

“I hear you’re working the Brady case,” Piper said.

“Who told you that?”

“Miranda Brady. Care to make a statement?” Piper fished a pad of paper from the pocket of her green button-down shirt.

“Damn it.”

“Anything else?”

“That was off the record. On the record: no comment.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nick,” Piper protested as he pushed past her and started up the stairs to the Upper Stands. She scrambled after him. “People are worried about these Institute disappearances. They need to know - they  _ deserve  _ to know whether this is another one!”

“Piper, people are worried because  _ you _ keep bringing up the Institute as soon as someone goes missing,” Nick said. He paused on the landing of the staircase and leveled an irritated gaze on Piper. “There’s a reason the authorities don’t talk to the press early on in an investigation. It’s because they don’t have enough solid info. And people tend to fill in the gaps with worst-case scenarios.  _ Especially _ when they’re already riled up by stories of evil, shadowy organizations. So.” He paused to count how many cigarettes he had left in his pack. Only three remained. “No comment. Not until I have more to go on.”

Though her face screwed into a frustrated frown, Piper stopped dogging Nick’s heels as he continued up to the Colonial Taphouse. In the outdoor seating area, Clarence Codman was enjoying the weather with his wife Ann as Wellingham served them a breakfast of steak and eggs. “Good morning, Mister Valentine,” Wellington said in his tinny, robotic voice. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“No thanks - I was just hoping to speak to the Codmans for a minute.”

“Can it wait until after breakfast, Valentine?” Clarence asked, not looking up from his plate. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but we humans actually care about our meals and don’t like them to be disturbed.”

“I know this is hard for you to understand,” Nick replied, “but some people actually care when a loved one goes missing. I just need to ask a few questions.”

“Is this about that Patrick Brady fellow? I already told his wife that he probably ran off to Goodneighbor.”

Nick’s yellow eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”

Shrugging, Clarence said, “That’s where all the degenerates wind up, isn’t it?” He dragged a piece of steak through the runny egg yolk and popped it into his mouth. “He was always a slacker looking to make quick money for no effort.”

It was becoming readily apparent that Nick wasn’t going to accomplish anything from this conversation besides getting frustrated. “Thanks for your time,” he said, shoving his fists into his trench coat pockets and turning to leave. He didn’t bother to listen for Clarence’s reply, if any, and his mood remained dark as he returned to his office. Fortunately, this time Ellie had set down her coffee down before he slammed the door open.

“Nick!” she said, waving a manila folder in the air with triumph. “I found him!” She read the name on the folder. “Karthik Mishra - nominally one of Hancock’s boys, but he’s known to take side gigs from No-Nose and Marowski.”

“Of  _ course, _ ” Nick said, slapping his forehead with the heel of his hand. “He was an informant on that distillery job. Ellie, you’re a lifesaver.” He retrieved the file from Ellie and flipped through it. After re-familiarizing himself with its contents and copying down a few key points in his notepad, he went to grab his revolver from its locker; a trip to Goodneighbor was in order.

* * *

“I told you - he’s busy,” the neighborhood watchman, a thick, sturdy man with nary a hair on his head, growled. 

Nick sighed with frustration, but persisted. “Could you do me a favor and tell him it’s Nick Valentine? It’s official business.”

The watchman didn’t budge from his post in the doorway of the Old State House. “It’s nothing personal, Valentine,” he said, shaking his bulldog-like head. “Hancock says he’s not to be disturbed - by  _ anyone _ for  _ any _ reason. He’s busy.”

“Busy with mayoral business, or busy getting stoned off his ass?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“In practical terms, I suppose not.” Nick turned to leave, but decided to try one last track first. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Karthik Mishra, would you?”

The watchman snorted. “You’ve just asked the four-hundred-cap question. If you find the answer, Hancock will be glad to pay you for it.”

That, in itself, was useful information, and Nick nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks anyway,” he said, then turned the corner to scope out The Third Rail. He paused at the top of the stairs down to the bar and fished out his notebook to review the list of Karthik’s known associates. Eveline Coeman was an old squeeze of his - and her favorite pastime was draining Whitechapel Charlie’s casks. With a new target in mind, Nick descended into the cool, underground air.

The warm, creamy sound of Magnolia’s alto voice wafted up towards him, muddled at first by the echoes off the tiled wall, but growing clearer as he reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the bar proper. She was on the tiny stage, as usual, singing a downtempo cover of “Let’s Do It.” When she saw Nick, she flashed him a wink as she improvised a few lines in the final verse. “Even rusty ol’ machines do it; let’s do it - let’s fall in love!” she crooned, letting the last note travel up and down over the heads of the bar patrons. Nick couldn’t help but smile.

It took him a while to spot Eveline in the dim, smoke-filled environment, but eventually Nick found her slumped on one of the ratty sofas, her frizzy auburn hair barely contained by a bun that had been knocked askew. A small forest of empty beer bottles had sprung up on the table in front of her, and the lone ashtray was piled high with cigarette butts, some still smouldering. Nick sank down on the lumpy sofa across the table from her, and she looked up at him with bleary eyes. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Don’t know what?”

“I don’t know where Kar is. Hancock’s boys already asked.” Eveline fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket and poked two fingers inside, searching for another one. “He does that - just up and runs off without warning. I stopped caring.” Finding the pack empty, she tossed it aside with frustration, the violence of her action undercut by the lightweight pack’s gentle fall to the ground.

Nick retrieved his own cigarette pack and offered one to Eveline, taking another for himself. Just one left, he noted - he really needed to find some more. “Forgive my presumption, but it seems like you do still care a little,” he said, leaning across the low table to light Eveline’s cigarette.

She shot him an acid glare over the top of the lighter’s flickering flame. Once her cigarette was lit, she blew smoke at Nick’s face - though he wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish with that, considering he didn’t need to breathe. “Presume whatever you want. I don’t fucking need him. And I don’t want to talk about him, either.”

“Fine by me,” Nick replied airily. “Let’s talk about something else, then.” He’d played this angle many times before, and while it could take a long time, it usually got him the results he wanted. Be accommodating, let an informant direct the flow of conversation, and it usually wound back to the one topic they swore up and down they didn’t want to talk about - but, in reality, they couldn’t stop thinking about. All it required was some patience.

However, before the conversation could really get going, Nick’s attention was diverted by the entrance of a newcomer to the bar. It wasn’t so much the unfamiliar face that caught Nick’s eye - Goodneighbor always had transient types coming and going; instead, it was the scoped rifle slung over the newcomer’s shoulder, and the calculating way he sized up the room. Nick recognized the type immediately - a hired gun if he’d ever seen one - and made his own mental appraisal of the mercenary.

He was short, with a prominent nose, and his lean stature reminded Nick of a tightly-wound spring. From his attire, Nick suspected an affiliation with the Gunners, though members of that crew didn’t usually work alone. Nick noticed that the mercenary’s gaze lingered on him and Eveline for a moment before the mercenary casually strolled over to the bar and ordered a drink. Nick kept Eveline talking, but now his attention was divided between their conversation and the hired gun speaking in hushed tones with Whitechapel Charlie. Eveline noticed.

“You don’t actually give a shit about what I’m saying, do you?” she said, her voice rising in anger. A few patrons glanced in her direction. “You just want to use me to find Kar. I should have fucking figured. You may be a synth but you’re still a typical man.”

_ Ah, shit, _ Nick thought. As if on cue, the merc was head their way, two glasses of whiskey in his hands. Nick had been afraid this would happen.

“Sorry for interrupting,” the merc said, “but it sounds like you could use a bit of cheering up.” He offered one of the whiskeys to Eveline, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

Eveline regarded the newcomer a bit warily, then shot a glance at Nick. He kept his face impassive in the hopes that, if he didn’t give her the reaction she wanted, he’d avoid encouraging further misbehavior. But it didn’t matter - he’d already blown it, and she was done with him. A broad, wolfish grin spread across Eveline’s face, and she took the proffered whiskey. “Why, thank you. Finally, a real gentleman is in this place.” She stood, a bit unsteadily, and said, “Let’s go sit a bit closer to the stage. If you haven’t seen Magnolia perform before, you’re in for a treat.”

“I’d be honored,” the mercenary said, offering her an arm to lean on. Nick didn’t miss the triumphant smirk the merc tossed in his direction as the pair walked away. He mentally ran through every single cuss he knew. The turn of events wasn’t surprising - with a four-hundred-cap bounty on the line, there were bound to be others searching for Karthik - but Nick had been hoping he’d had enough of a head start to avoid running into them.  _ Of all the rotten luck… _

While normally Nick would have loved to spend an evening listening to Magnolia’s voice, any pleasure there was to be had was lost as he watched the hired gun chat up Eveline. She ate up the attention, relishing the opportunity to exact petty revenge on Nick - and on Karthik, judging by the way she lightly touched the merc’s shoulder. Soon after she placed her hand on his knee, the touch lingering. Nick shook his head in a mixture of frustration and disappointment. That was one particular angle he simply wasn’t able to play, as useful as it could be. To be honest, though, he didn’t miss it, except in a vague sort of way.

Nick went to the bar and bought a drink from Charlie, more out of a sense of obligation instead of any desire for alcohol. He made a point of ignoring his rival and his lost quarry, and they returned the favor. When he finished his drink and headed for the exit, they didn’t so much as look his direction.

The sun had set by the time Nick made it to street level, and he had no trouble finding a shadowed hiding place within view of The Third Rail’s entrance. That little merc may have won the battle, but Nick wasn’t going to let him win the war. He waited, silent and motionless. Occasionally a watchman carrying a submachine gun or a stoned drifter passed by - one particularly inebriated fellow practically tripped over him - but none seemed to notice him. Finally, after two hours and twenty-seven minutes, Eveline and her new friend emerged from The Third Rail.

Leaning heavily on each other, the two weaved their way to the Hotel Rexford, where many of Hancock’s boys kept residence. Nick fell into step a discreet distance behind them, making sure to avoid the few functional streetlamps along the route. When the pair disappeared inside the hotel, he set up camp once more.  _ Patience, patience… _ It was astonishing how much detectivework involved just waiting. That was the reason Nick still smoked - it gave him something to do with his hands. He may not need to eat or sleep, but he still got bored. Speaking of… Nick retrieved his final cigarette, cursing his laxness about finding a replacement pack. After nine minutes, that particular diversion was extinguished. Nick started counting the bricks in the wall of the Old State House.

He was up to 1,327 by the time the merc exited the Hotel Rexford, pausing to surveil his surroundings. Nick considered his options for a little while before stepping out of his hiding spot and striding up; the merc was momentarily surprised by his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered his composure. “The Great Robot Detective, Nick Valentine,” the merc said with an air of appreciation. Any hint of inebriation was long gone; no doubt he’d been feigning earlier. “I’ve heard about you.”

“Can’t say the same about you, mister…”

“MacCready.” The two shook hands to banish any lingering grudge. “I assume you’re after the bounty, too?” MacCready asked.

Nick shook his head. “Karthik Mishra is my best lead in a missing person’s case from Diamond City.” He chuckled ruefully. “Figures that  _ he’d _ turn into a missing person’s case too.”

“You think the cases are related?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Nick said with a shrug. “I won’t know until I find Karthik and ask him some questions.” He fixed a level gaze on MacCready. “Look, we put our heads together, we’ll be that much more likely to find him. You let me get the information I need from Karthik first, and then you can haul his ass in front of Hancock and get your caps. What do you say?”

MacCready chewed on his lower lip, his eyes narrowed, as he thought. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah - yeah, all right.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a folded-up piece of paper. Unfolding it and passing it to Nick, he said, “I searched Karthik’s room. Found this in a false-bottom drawer of his desk. Maybe you know what it means?”

Nick’s yellow eyes darted back and forth as he scanned the brief, terse note full of abbreviations and allusions. “ _ L.M. _ is probably Lenny Marowski,” he muttered, reflexively casting a wary glance at the closed doors of Hotel Rexford. The drug kingpin was most likely in there at that very moment. “Hmmm… it looks like Marowski hired Karthik for a job that he knew Hancock wouldn’t approve of. Not sure what, exactly - there’s not enough info here to guess.” MacCready remained conspicuously silent as Nick scrutinized a small doodle in the corner of the page: a four-leaf clover with a straight line extending down and to the left from the symbol, and a numeral 2 scribbled next to the line. Tapping one skeletal finger on the doodle, Nick said, “This might be referring to the Four Leaf fishpacking plant southeast of here. And the number… a distance, maybe? Two  _ something _ southwest of the plant?”

“A rendezvous point, maybe?” MacCready asked, peeking excitedly over Nick’s shoulder.

“Rendezvous point, cache drop, who knows - it’s worth checking out.” Nick returned the note to MacCready, then hesitated. “Err… do you need to eat or sleep or anything? It’s late.” In fact, it was seven minutes past midnight, according to his chronometer.

MacCready shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” The circles under his dark blue eyes suggested otherwise, but Nick didn’t care to argue the point. They exited Goodneighbor, the tall gate rattling shut behind them, and headed due south, their pace slow and quiet. At a normal walking speed it’d take them about an hour to reach the fishpacking plant; however, with the added effort to avoid any super mutant or raider enclaves they might encounter, that travel time could easily double. MacCready unslung his rifle from his back and held it easily in his arms; Nick kept his revolver in his shoulder holster, its weight reassuring.

“Is there any way to narrow down our search area?” MacCready asked as they rounded the burnt-out husk of a city bus. “Major landmarks southeast of the plant? Likely meeting places?”

Nick consulted his mental map of Boston, which he’d constructed both from fragmentary pre-War memories and his own years of wandering the city. “Well… there is the South Boston police department - but that’s only a little over a mile away, not two miles.”

“Two klicks is just over a mile,” MacCready replied without hesitation. When Nick gave him a bemused look, MacCready shrugged. “Anyway, that would fit with the diagram. Two klicks southeast to the police station.”

The more Nick thought about it, the more the police station seemed the most likely candidate. It would be a relatively secure place to store something valuable, in the event that there was a cache drop, and because the building was almost intact it’d be easier to defend, too. And, hell, running a criminal enterprise out of a former police station sounded like Marowski’s idea of a joke. He nodded, convinced. “Well, that just cut our trip in half, which is always good,” he remarked.

As the men traveled south and then swung east around the narrow, fingerlike inlet that separated Goodneighbor from South Boston, the only sign of danger they encountered was the soft, orange glow of campfires - which they easily skirted, once spotted. No need to find out if the campfires belonged to a friendly merchant caravan or a hostile raider camp. Even with the easy travel, though, the night was over halfway over by the time they were in sight of the police station; the crickets had all gone to bed, and the profound silence of deep night settled over the city. Nick noticed that MacCready was stifling yawns more and more frequently, and his pace had slowed a bit. Was this guy really intending to forego sleep until he found Karthik? Nick hoped not.

They stopped about a block away from the solid brick building of the police station to take stock of the area. Nick pointed at the front door. “That’s the only way in or out. Makes the building easy to defend, but also makes it easy to stake out.” He gestured to the building across the street, a three-story residential with a rickety metal fire escape running the height of one side. “We can use that place, set up on the second or third floor. We’ll see anyone coming or going.”

MacCready nodded. “And you’ll be able to identify Karthik if he shows? Hancock gave me a description, but I’ve never actually seen the guy.”

“Yup. I’ve met him a few times. I don’t plan on making a move unless we can approach him alone - I’m not in the mood to tangle with any of Marowski’s gang.”

“Neither am I.”

They entered the brick building via the fire escape, the dry grass softly crunching beneath their feet as they cut through a patch of yard. Nick drew his revolver as they approached the second story window, which had long lost its glass; there was a chance the building already had inhabitants. MacCready likewise raised the stock of his rifle partway to his shoulder. Nick paused and listened for any sounds coming from inside the building; he heard nothing except MacCready’s soft, steady breathing behind him. Cautiously, Nick poked his head through the window and scanned the dark interior. In one corner, a small pair of eyes glinted back at him, making him tense - but he relaxed once he realized it was just a small calico cat crouched over the carcass of a rat. “Hope you’re not allergic to pets,” he said to a confused MacCready as he clambered into the apartment.

The apartment had a bank of windows facing the police department, from which the two men cleared the debris of long-destroyed furniture. In the back of the apartment they found the remnants of an old bivouac, but otherwise the cat - who had retreated to a hiding spot to finish its meal in peace - was the only sign of habitation. Nick found two relatively intact metal chairs in the kitchen and pulled them up to the windows, claiming one for himself as MacCready plopped into the other and retrieved a cigarette from his pocket. After a few moments’ thought, he hesitantly offered one to Nick, who accepted it with silent thanks.

By now MacCready’s exhaustion was readily apparent; he almost nodded off a couple times before finishing his smoke. Each time he jerked himself awake he cast a suspicious look at Nick, who placidly kept watch on the police department across the street. “So I’m guessing you don’t need to sleep, huh?” he finally asked.

“Nope,” Nick confirmed, flicking his cigarette butt into the corner.

MacCready frowned, his gaze shifting from the police department to Nick and back again. “Make sure I’m awake when Karthik shows, yeah?”

Nick nodded. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said, still not looking away from the police station.

Still wary, MacCready tried to stay awake for a while longer. However, as the sky began to take on the cool gray of pre-dawn, his head drooped forward and he began to snore softly. Nick chuckled at the mercenary’s stubbornness. After a while, the calico cautiously emerged from its hiding place and padded over to investigate the intruders to its apartment. Nick held out a hand for it to sniff, which it accepted. However, it still wasn’t sure what to make of this creature that looked like a person but smelled like metal; instead, it wandered over to MacCready and, after sniffing his shoes, rubbed itself against his leg possessively. When he didn’t stir, it settled beneath his chair, tucking its paws beneath itself and resting its chin on his bootlaces.

As the sky lightened, songbirds roused themselves and began their morning songs, tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence that the sun was indeed rising once more. One in particular - a house sparrow, Nick was fairly sure - was perched somewhere just above the window. Suddenly it went silent, and Nick leaned forward in his chair to peer down the street. A lanky fellow in the slacks, suspenders, and fedora outfit favored by Marowski’s crew was approaching the police station with a sense of purpose, a submachine gun in hand. Nick leaned forward in his seat and instinctively reached for his revolver.

The fedora-wearing fellow went up to the door of the station, cast glances over his shoulders for any observers (fortunately not noticing Nick), and knocked on the door. After a few seconds, the door opened and someone with dark hair and medium-brown skin - was it Karthik? Nick didn’t get a good enough look to tell - let the fellow in, then shut the door again. Glancing over at MacCready, Nick debated whether to wake him. The guy hadn’t been asleep for very long, and he definitely needed the rest. And… Nick gave MacCready’s rifle a disapproving look, unsure if he actually wanted to wake him at all.

After several more minutes, the dark-haired man Nick had glimpsed in the doorway slipped out of the station and stood in the street to light up a cigarette. It was definitely Karthik - Nick had no doubt now that he could see the man clearly in the morning light. Probably pulling guard duty for whatever Marowski had going on in the station, and it was probably big if he couldn’t tell his girl  _ and _ Hancock was after him for it. But that ultimately wasn’t Nick’s business. What  _ was _ his business was asking Karthik about the whereabouts of one Patrick Brady, and if he didn’t move  _ now _ his only lead on Brady’s disappearance might wander off.

Nick stood (the calico still beneath MacCready’s chair chirruped grumpily at the disturbance) and cast one last look at MacCready, who was still snoring softly. His rifle rested in the crook of one of his arms. Nick grimaced and crept, with the best mix of stealth and speed that he could muster, to the window from whence they’d entered. MacCready didn’t stir, and the calico simply watched him with an unimpressed expression. His descent down the fire escape was much more stressful, as he tried to prevent the wrought iron steps from ringing out and yet still reach the bottom before Karthik finished his cigarette break. Somehow - barely - Nick managed in time, rounding the corner of the building just as Karthik was tossing away his butt.

Karthik reached for his pistol as soon as he saw Nick, who held up his hands disarmingly in response. “Whoa, whoa - I’m just here to talk, kid,” Nick said, trying his best to give an affable smile.

“The hell do you want, Valentine?” Karthik asked - though not so loud that his comrade inside would hear, Nick noticed.

“I’m just looking for a guy went missing from Diamond City,” Nick said. “Thought maybe you’d heard’ve him? Patrick Brady?”

Karthik visibly relaxed and gave a relieved half-smile, shaking his head. “Ah shit, you’re just looking for Brady?”

“You know where he is?”

“I mean, yeah, but - ”

The right side of Karthik’s face exploded in a wet, red cloud as a rifle shot cracked through the air. “DAMMIT!” Nick swore, instinctively ducking and looking up towards the source of the gunshot. He heard the police station door slam open and glanced over just in time to see the fedora-wearing fellow be similarly obliterated right where he stood in the doorway, his semiautomatic rifle clattering to the ground. “What the HELL is wrong with you?” Nick hollered up at the stakeout location, but from this angle he could see only the glint of MacCready’s rifle barrel.

There was only one exit from the stakeout spot. Nick was waiting for MacCready as he casually descended the fire escape. “What in the flaming hell is wrong with you?” Nick repeated, his voice constricted to a furious hiss.

MacCready’s expression was carefully nonchalant, but hints of his own anger seeped through. “Could ask you the same question.”

“You couldn’t wait two damn minutes for me to finish talking to him?”

“You couldn’t take two damn seconds to wake me up when he showed, like I asked you to?”

Anger was a curious sensation for Nick, as a synth. For humans it is a very physiological thing: heart rate up, flushed face, adrenaline surging through the body. But Nick didn’t have a heart to beat faster, no blood vessels to dilate, no hormones to make his hands shake. Anger for him was a much colder, more cerebral experience based on frustrated goals or betrayal or being duped - with a hint of nostalgia, like a phantom limb of emotion. But at least that made Nick much less likely to do something stupid, like shoot MacCready on the spot. “I lost my only good lead to find a missing person and bring closure to his poor wife,” Nick said, his tone knife-sharp. “You happy about that?”

“No, not particularly,” MacCready replied. “But if you’re not gonna give me a fair chance to get my job done, then I’m not gonna give you one either.”

“Really? You’ll kill a man out of spite?”

“I’ll kill a man because I’m paid four hundred caps to do it.” MacCready pushed past Nick and started ambling back towards Goodneighbor. “Take it up with Hancock if you’re so offended.” As Nick watched, he stooped next to the mangled corpse of Karthik and retrieved a small medallion of some kind from around the former gangster’s neck, snapping the chain from which it hung. MacCready pocketed it without bothering to examine it, no doubt planning to use it merely as proof of the job done. He did not retrieve a similar token from the other gangster. 

Now Nick  _ really _ wanted a cigarette. But, finding himself still lacking, he instead picked a bit of yarrow growing alongside the stakeout building and methodically destroyed the little white flowers, one by one.

When MacCready was out of sight, Nick tossed the mangled yarrow stem aside and approached Karthik’s body. Flies had already started to gather in a buzzing cloud around it. He shook his head. “Sorry, kid,” he murmured. He knelt and began searching the body. He wasn’t giving up yet, of course; even dead, Karthik might offer up some clues as to Brady’s whereabouts. Hopefully that medallion MacCready had taken wasn’t one.

In Karthik’s shirt pocket, Nick found a mostly-full pack of unfiltered cigarettes. He paused, testing its heft, and considered his options. After a moment, he pocketed the pack. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing these,” he said to the corpse. “Figure you won’t really be needing them anymore.” Nick definitely would - it was going to be another long day.


End file.
